desire
desire
leaving the roses unpicked avoiding the thorns
watching the buds bloom unfurling in a delight
and no wounds to inflict no vase which adorns
no dying color in the room no hint of the blight
the petals scatter in wind turn brown and decay
merging into the dank soil blending in the loam
as nature does not mend only repairs on display
releasing of the life coil hearing of night’s moan
winter comes as leaves fall exposing a briar bare
tunnel down in the ground seek sleep and peace
when will arrive the next call relief from despair
the frost cracking sound as the seconds increase
uncertain fingers idly pluck speeding up a death
concede reality to luck yet counting each breath
= new reply since forum marked as read
It flows as I expect stream of consciousness poems to flow. It took me a couple of times reading it to truly grasp the meaning.
